Tortured soul
by 24addict
Summary: Set with Jack in China, this is the back-story between him and Jasmine, who you may have met in Picking up the Pieces. Not a lot of Jack-dialogue!
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: 24 and all its wonderful characters belong to Fox. I only borrow them, and add a few of my own.

**Chapter 1 **

_The following takes place in a detention centre near Shanghai about 6 months after day 5_.

Jack entered consciousness with the disturbing thought that he knew neither where he was, nor how he had got there. His mind was fuzzy. By habit, he attempted orient himself before giving any outward indication that he was awake, so as not to alert the guard.

A quick body-check first. He was proned out on what felt like a bed, hands above his head. He could feel restraints at ankles and wrists, but did not want to risk any noise in these just yet, so he remained still. Pain – yes – mostly in the back. There had been a flogging – he couldn't remember how long ago, but the pain was consistent with that. At least something added up. He was wet and cold. The bed under him was also soaked. Had someone thrown a bucket of water over him? No, he seemed to be wet everywhere, and that effect is difficult to achieve with a bucket.

A smell – familiar, but he couldn't place it. The dullness of his mental processes frustrated him. He began to chide himself for being slow and then chided himself for that, too. Self-recrimination was a luxury he could not afford right now. _You're slow Jack, you're slow. That too may be important. File it. Get on to the next thing_.

Sounds. In the distance. Low chatter in Chinese. Talk about the weather, most likely. Last night's supper. What's good on TV. Didn't sound important, and certainly not directed at Jack. Other sounds – nearby whirring. Fans. These _were_ directed at Jack, and he shivered some more. _Bad enough being cold, wet and naked, they don't need fans, too. Fans mean electricity. File that thought and move on. Still on sounds. Some faint beeping. Like medical alarms going off_. _That was it_, thought Jack, _a medical place. The smell – disinfectant!_ He congratulated himself for working this out. He had woken up in an infirmary of some kind.

He'd had medical checks before. Not for his benefit to be sure, just to make sure he didn't die unexpectedly. The Chinese were a thorough people, they liked to be in control. Every so often they would take him to a room, strip, poke and prod. They took blood, they demanded samples. He never saw the same doctor twice, and imagined they worked rotations here, or were contracted in specially. Either way, the doctors were actual doctors. They were not interrogators, jailors, guards or torturers.

Jack decided it was time to open his eyes – he wanted to see which guard was with him. Decisions like these – when to keep eyes closed and when to open them – were important to Jack. Measures of control he had over himself and the people round about him. He could manipulate them just with his eyes. This time, opening them brought no immediate response from the guard. Jack turned his head and saw him, sleeping soundly, on a plastic chair to Jack's left. He recognized him as the one he had nicknamed 'Eric.'

Eric, like most guards, was young, perhaps 18 years old, about 5'5, weighing some 160 pounds and wore a boringly-grey uniform and cap. Initially Jack had found it difficult to distinguish one guard from the next. Then he had started giving them names, and found that they did have distinctive features. Jack was getting better at recognizing oriental faces. This was _progress_. Progress was a _positive thought_, and positive thoughts were treasures.

Once they had names and faces, the guards also took on personalities. Eric was not a good guard. Jack would have discharged him, dishonourably, by now. The boy had no stamina, was afraid of his superiors, afraid of his charge, afraid of his own weapon. He had a tendency to fidget, and would hit Jack with the butt of his weapon when Jack baited him.

Eyes open, Jack used the opportunity to take in his surroundings. If he had just woken from, say, a coma, and they had not yet realized, this might be his best opportunity for exploration before they put him under better guard. He was, as he had suspected, shackled by hands and feet to a bed in a single room, perhaps 10' by 12'. A clinical room, white, with electricity and a window (Jack's heart skipped a beat) but blinds drawn. Medical equipment all around, but clearly out of his reach. He seemed to have been placed with his head to the foot of the bed, attached to monitors behind him.

A chart on a board was hooked on the foot of the bed, right in front of him, inches from his hands. This was too tempting for Jack. He risked some noise bringing his feet as far up the bed toward him as he could to allow slack on the chains that held his hands to the corners. There was just enough slack to bring his hands together and reach the chart. Silently, he brought it over the bar at the foot of the bed. All in Chinese of course. He searched for a date, but saw nothing he recognized. Some numbers (40.3, 40.9, 40.5) were, he presumed, temperature readings, but he could not figure out over what time-span they had been taken. His blood pressure seemed very low, but that did not worry him. _Let them worry about that_. More importantly, the chart had a pen at the top. A pen with a little metal clip on the end. He bent the clip several times, breaking it off the pen and replaced the pen in a little plastic pocket in the chart. The clip he put in his mouth, nestled comfortably at the bottom of his right gum. That's where he used to hide chewing-gum in school. He quietly replaced the chart over the end of the bed, hoping they wouldn't notice the missing clip, and inched back down the bed.

The second time Jack moved, he had dislodged one of the sensors stuck to his chest. A beep went off beyond the door, then the door opened. A nurse had come to check on him. She was slim, petite, and wore a crisp white uniform. He felt like asserting himself into the situation, so he gave her a long, hard stare. He knew that, together with an impassive face, this was unnerving for most people. She was surprised to see him awake, and spoke sharply to the Eric. Eric shook himself awake and shoved his rifle in Jack's ear. Slowly, Jack turned his head to stare Eric down too. _Really, at rifle at the head was gratuitous when a man is shacked by all his limbs_. Jack felt some tension in their conversation between Eric and the nurse. He was worried she might rat him out. The nurse hastened to replace the sensor on Jack's chest and then stuck something (he presumed a thermometer) up his ass. He tried not to react to the indignity, but looked calmly past Eric's muzzle right up into his eyes.

Jack remembered where he had seen this nurse before. _Not here, in this room. Interrogation booths. That's right, she was one of those who came to site an IV line for medical interrogations. She would site it and leave_. Not all interrogators were trained in siting these lines; not all who were trained were any good at it. Sometimes they would fumble about, trying fruitlessly to find a vein. That gave him a chance to laugh, which infuriated them greatly. This one, however, the nurse, got the vein first time. Always. She knew where to put the needle.

He hadn't given her a name because she was the only female who had been in the booth. As if she was reading his mind, she spoke to him.

"Prisoner Bauer, my name is Jasmine. You lucky you alive. You have septicaemia. How you feel right now?"

Jack was unused to being addressed so politely, and certainly had had no idea she could speak English. In his surprise he might even have spoken, only he had no idea what to say. The idea that someone was actually interested in how he was feeling was quite alien. He looked at her more closely, taking in her features. She too was young, but he felt unable to judge how young as he'd seen no other women for such a long time. She could have been 20, she could have been 30. He guessed from her figure she had no children. Now that she wasn't actually sticking a needle in his hand, she actually looked quite pretty.

The thermometer in his ass beeped. She took it and wrote in the chart. She didn't seem to notice anything strange about the pen.

Jack chuckled inwardly. She would get more information from his ass than his mouth. That was as it should be. Perhaps he had been really ill. He was out of his element. He needed to keep his guard up.

She positioned herself back in his eyeline. "How you feel?"

Silence.

She sighed. "You feel hot, cold? Thirsty, nauseous, hungry?"

More silence.

"Look, I not want confession. This not interrogation. You tell me how you feel, I make you better quicker."

Jack allowed himself a small smile. Her logic was impeccable. But from Jack's point of view, a long slow recovery was just as good as a fast one. The new surroundings, even with the shackles, made a welcome break from his cell.

She moved closer to him. "You in pain? I can get you morphine. Tell me you want it, and I get it."

Jack closed his eyes. _Not funny_. He would keep them closed until she went.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

_The following takes place some time later._

He hadn't been aware of falling asleep. There were people entering the room, male voices. He recognized one voice as that of Cheng. Jack pulled on the chains and hoisted himself onto his elbows to get a better look at the crowd that had come into his room. _His room_. _They were visitors. Cheng, Jasmine, a doctor he didn't recognize. A different guard on his left. How long had it been since Eric was relieved? _This guard he called Reece. Quiet fellow. Didn't give much away, just did his job. There was animated discussion among his visitors. Jack's ear struggled to hear patterns of sounds, intonations, but as yet, he recognized very few words of Chinese.

Apart from the change in guard, nothing had changed in the room. He was still drenched in a cold sweat, and more importantly, the metal clip was still nestled by his right gum. He would move it when he had a chance.

"You thought death might save you?" Cheng taunted, "But you were not so lucky, Bauer."

Jack imagined that instead of being naked, proned and shackled, he was clean-shaven and dressed in a neatly-pressed suit. His hair had been clipped the night before and his black shoes shone. He stood directly opposite Cheng and stared into the man's eyes. '_I am unbowed'_, his eyes said. He wasn't altogether sure how well the effect came across, but noticed with some satisfaction that Cheng put effort into meeting his eyes.

Cheng was then distracted as the doctor took the chart from the end of the bed. Cheng snatched it out of his hand and spoke sharply. _A reproof for their carelessness_, thought Jack. Cheng examined it carefully, drawn to the pen, as Jack had been. He took it out and questioned the doctor. The doctor shrugged his shoulders. Cheng had noticed the missing clip.

_It's just a matter of time now_. Jack clenched his fists.

Cheng peered into Jack's eyes. "Where is it?"

No response. Cheng noticed the clenched fists. He dug fingers into Jack's right palm to try to prise it open. But it is a lot harder to prise open a clenched fist than it is to keep it clenched, and Jack was strong. He still had muscle. After a struggle, Cheng took a gun from his holster and whipped Jack's knuckles with it. On the third blow Jack decided he had had enough and let go. No clip. The same performance was repeated with the left. Cheng was livid. Jack even allowed himself a smirk. Cheng made a quick search of the bed and floor, eyeing Jack in the hope that he would give away the clip's location.

What Cheng did next, Jack felt was gratuitous. He donned a glove on his right hand and delved up Jack's ass. _Quite pointless_. It wasn't that Jack hadn't thought to hide it there, it was just that, as any fool could see, his hands were secured above his head. _Cheng really isn't the sharpest pencil in the tin_. Without bothering to change gloves, Cheng forced Jack's mouth open and delved around in there. His elation on finding the prize was marred only by a face-full of spittle from Jack. Jack spat some more to rid his mouth of the foul taste. The bitch-slap that followed marked the end of the game. _One-all_, thought Jack, _not bad_.

There was discussion above Jack's head and the chart found a new home out of Jack's eye-line.

"The nurse is going to change your dressings." Cheng said with a smile. "If you want something for pain, you just ask for it."

Jack soon discovered that there were only two unpleasant things about dressings being changed. The first was that the tape being pulled away tore hairs out of his back. This, he presumed, was like having legs waxed. Material for a good laugh with Audrey, but hardly reason to call for morphine. Cheng really was an ass.

The other unpleasant thing was the smell. Each rip of tape was accompanied by the stench of infection, like over-ripe Stilton which had been wrapped in a worn sock and left in a car-trunk for a week. The look of distaste on Cheng's face gave Jack a warm glow inside. Jasmine worked efficiently and without hesitation. Jack figured she was used to his back by now.

There was some more discussion over his head. Jasmine held a white, wriggling something in a pair of tweezers just away from his face.

"Prisoner Bauer," Jasmine addressed him formally, "these maggots we use against infection. Most up-to-date infection control in all of world. Maggots eat dead, infected flesh, leave good flesh alone. Maggots in all your wounds." She took the maggot and he never saw it again. He presumed she put it in his back. She looked to Cheng who nodded his approval. _He told her to say that_.

When she was done, the doctor wrote more in his chart and left with Cheng. "Don't relax too much, Bauer," was Cheng's parting shot, "we still have ways of making your life unpleasant."

Jack took this as a sign, and a rather childish one at that, that Cheng had been hoping to milk more unpleasantness out of the encounter than he had managed to. That was a _positive thought_, and he let it glow in his chest.

Jasmine spoke to Reece, who released Jack's hands from the restraints.

"No sudden movements," warned Jasmine.

Jack bent his elbows with relief, bringing them down to his waist, and clenching his hands together. From a distance of about 4 feet, he heard Reece cock his rifle and speak.

"He need see your hands," Jasmine said.

Slowly Jack moved his hands to his sides, palms open. It felt so good to bend his arms. Next he crawled down the bed to where his feet were still secured, bending his back, which hurt, and his knees. He didn't know when he would next be allowed to flex his joints, so figured he should make the most of the opportunity.

He settled into a yoga position – child's pose – and breathed deeply. He noticed something else now for the first time – a tube draining urine into a bag at the side of the bed. He had seen these before, visiting friends in hospitals, but had figured it would be impolite to ask what they felt like. He mused that it wasn't nearly as bad as he had expected, and that if only someone had tethered his dick a long time ago, life might have been a lot simpler.

Jasmine next produced a basin and towels. "You sit up?" she asked.

Jack sat at the edge of the bed. The chain to his feet could be moved to the side to allow this. No sooner had he got there, however, than he felt overcome by waves of dizziness and nausea. He looked at the floor and commanded it to stay still.

"You will feel like bad physical shape," Jasmine told him, "Infection, also antibiotics. Make you feel …. Lousy."

Jack exhaled sharply. It was strange to hear her say a word like 'lousy'. _Where did she learn that word?_

She drew water from the tap and placed the basin on a trolley next to him. "Now you wash."

_Rarely have three more glorious words been spoken_, thought Jack. The water was tepid, and made him shiver all the more, but by now Jack had worked out that he only felt cold because he really had a temperature, so he didn't let it bother him. It was wonderful to wash, and to do it for himself, even if he did have an audience. He even stood on his feet to avoid getting the bed wetter than it already was. He watched the water in the basin become increasingly black. But standing up wasn't as easy as it had once been. He was reminded of standing to attention for long periods on parade in a baking hot sun. Further waves of nausea and giddiness coursed through him. He tried to up his pulse to keep the circulation going to his head. Next thing he knew, he was on the floor, together with an upturned basin of dirty water. Everything was dark.

"You OK? You OK?' Jasmine was asking.

A word started in his chest, but he stopped it before it reached his throat.

Jack was vaguely aware of others in the room, poking and prodding. Someone dug a finger above his eye to see if he responded to pain. He did. There was lots of fiddling about and someone put an oxygen mask on him.

"Jack, open your eyes." Jasmine was saying.

He obeyed, but still saw nothing. He closed them again, he felt safer that way, somehow.

A hundred strong hands were upon him, lifting him onto the bed. On his back. He gasped in pain. He heard Jasmine's voice in Chinese. The hands were on him again, this time bringing him round to recovery position.

_So, this is what it's like to be_ _sick_. Jack didn't do sick. He was more accustomed to being injured: gun-shot wounds, broken bones, grazes. _Now an infection. What had they said? Septicaemia_. He wondered, in a detached sort of way, whether he would live. Like watching a snail cross the path, and wondering whether it will make it to the other side. Jasmine was talking to him. He shivered. He didn't feel like responding. He was vaguely aware of his ass beeping as he drifted away…


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 **

_The following takes place some time later…_

This was beginning to feel familiar. Drenched in sweat, same position. Jack mourned the loss of the metal clip in his mouth. He was stiff and uncomfortable and longed to move. He wondered how long it would take to get their attention.

The guard was unfamiliar: middle-aged, wizened look. Jack whistled and looked him straight in the eye. He shifted stance, pressed a button on a wire and looked straight past Jack. He didn't want to let Jack feel important. Fine. In less than 30 seconds Jasmine entered the room. He wondered why the same attractive nurse was being kept on duty now through at least three shifts of guards. In any case, this _did_ make him feel important. Jasmine looked fresh as ever, and was clearly pleased to see her patient alive and awake.

"Jack, never again. Never do that again."

Jack wondered when he had changed from 'prisoner Bauer' to plain 'Jack.'

"You feel faint, like that, you tell me. You understand?"

Jack understood perfectly, but felt that _she_ had not grasped the situation.

"Look, you do not talk. OK. You feel faint, you clap hands together, OK?"

She was learning. He suppressed a nod, but gave what he hoped was a conciliatory look.

Jasmine did a full round of checks on Jack's person and spent a good deal of time writing on his chart.

"Looks like you're getting better after all," she then said. Jack couldn't figure out her English. Her grammar was not perfect, but she spoke easily, and every now and then she said something colloquial. Something she wouldn't have read in a text book. Had she picked this up from American films?

"You want move again?"

Jack gave no answer.

"You just sit. You not stand. You feel faint, you clap hands."

Jasmine instructed the guard who released Jack's hands. Again, he flexed his body, and brought himself to a sitting position. He felt less sore this time, somehow, less delicate. He wondered how much time had elapsed since he had last been conscious.

He simply savoured being upright – he rubbed his wrists and ankles where the shackles were digging into his skin. He also noticed sores on his chest. He'd been lying on it long enough to develop bedsores.

A doctor entered the room. This was the same doctor as before. He needed a name – Dr X, thought Jack.

"The doctor is going to examine you now," said Jasmine.

This was one good reason why Jack never spoke. _The doctor is going to examine me now_. What was the good of speaking? He could not object. If he could not object, then neither could he consent. Dr X was going to do it anyway. Speaking would only serve to make Dr X feel better about it, and it was not Jack's business to make _anyone_ feel better.

Jack obeyed direct commands from his captors, except that he didn't speak. He was co-operative with a purpose – _make them relax_. _Relaxed captors are better captors_. So, now, he co-operated while his ears were prodded, his knees banged with a hammer, and a pencil drawn hard across the soles of his feet. He coughed on request as the doctor held his testicles, and then opened his mouth for inspection. " 'Say aah,'" said Dr X, and Jack said 'aah'. _That doesn't count as talking_, Jack decided. He wasn't sure his CO at SERE training would agree, but then, the CO wasn't here.

Suddenly, Dr X and Jasmine left the room. He was left alone with the guard. Jack wondered whether he would be allowed to move about. He'd been told not to stand up. Jack stood up. The guard positioned himself at Jack's front, his rifle ready. Jack looked him in the eye. This guard was still an unknown quantity. Slowly, Jack placed his hands above his head and interlocked his fingers. This was internationally understood language. The guard continued to watch, warily. The guard needed a name. _Henry_.

Jack began twisting from side to side at the waist. Then leaning over, left and right. He raised his hands high above his head, and stood up on tip-toes. He looked up to the ceiling. Stretching never felt so good.

"You sit!" Jasmine's voice chided him, as she entered the room.

_Timing is important_. He had to sit. But he had to show backbone, too. He froze for a beat, and the sat slowly, keeping his hands on his head.

She tried to stare him down, but couldn't. _One-nil_.

"Doctor says, catheter out today."

Jack showed no reaction, although he had been dreading this. For all he didn't like the damned thing being there, it had been there long enough that he assumed it was well-anchored in place. He could only imagine that taking it out would hurt. He also didn't especially like the thought of anyone fiddling with him. _Not there. Not her_.

She seemed to read his mind as she approached, syringe in hand.

"This not hurt. There is bag inside with sterile water. I take that out, it come out easy," she said while working. And it did.

_You learn a new thing every day_, thought Jack. He noticed a number of bed pans which were just out of his reach. "You want one, you just ask."

_O boy!_ _This one's a real slow learner_.

Jack's next treat, just as he was getting used to life as a naturist, was a pair of boxers. These were fun to get on, as Henry was reluctant to leg his legs out of irons even for a minute. All in all, Jack was beginning to tire of the cuffs, tubes and general fuss about his body.

Jasmine put a glass of water on a trolley some distance from the bed. Even with one hand free, the water was still out of reach. With a sideways glance, she busied herself with some of the monitors in the room.

_Water going down would feel so good How long has it been?_ _Days, certainly_. Hunger and thirst were not problems – the constant IVs saw to that. She was watching him think, out of the corner of her eye. It was a ruse, all planned out in advance. If he wanted morphine, he just had to ask for it. If he wanted a bed-pan he just had to ask for it. If he wanted water he just had to ask for it.

Jack decided for himself which games he would play, and which he wouldn't. Jack wasn't biting. _Not biting_ meant being in control. And that was a _positive thought_. Positive thoughts kept madness at bay.

Jasmine walked past him, checking the equipment. _She's really bad at this_, thought Jack. _She's in way over her head_. He glanced at her breasts and his thoughts drifted to Audrey. _No, too painful. Think about Diane instead…_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

Over the next few days Jack busied himself investigating his new surroundings. He discovered a multitude of different ways to exercise his muscles whichever position he was placed in. He undertook a thorough study of the construction and materials of the bed and furniture in the room, as well as the room itself. He observed the guards' shift pattern. There was no relief, which Jack considered plain stupid. It was impossible for a guard to keep a 12 hour watch without toilet breaks. Indeed, they took many breaks, and during these he was restrained by all four limbs. At other times he might be allowed to sit, or have one hand free for eating, drinking and his other necessities. (Jasmine had long ago abandoned the 'keep them out of reach' regime - it had simply got too messy for her.) But laxity had set in the guard's habits, and he found himself guarded and restrained less and less as time went by.

Hospital arrangements also interested Jack. A steady stream of cleaners and orderlies came and went, emptying bins and replacing equipment. None of them interacted with him. He got the feeling that the facility was quite large. There was no mistaking the demeanour of the person whose job it was to empty a hundred bins.

The foul stench from the wounds on his back continued, but Jack felt that generally he was doing better. He was wired up to less monitors and was prodded less and less. He noticed they had taken away the fans that cooled him, and he was able to stay awake for most of the day.

It was while Eric was on a ciggie break (that boy smokes too much, thought Jack) that Jasmine entered and announced Jack's blood results had shown vitamin deficiency.

Jack couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at this. He wasn't surprised that he was malnourished, he was simply surprised that anyone cared.

"That reason you recovery very slow."

This Jack could understand. He was taking up valuable resources lying here in the hospital bed. _A 24-hour guard is expensive_. _Cheng is getting impatient_.

"We give vitamins." She showed him a bottle, as if the colour of the liquid inside mattered. She put down the medicine spoon she had brought, and tried to open the bottle. It was new and stiff. She tried again, going red in the face. Jack watched impassively – this was the best entertainment he'd had all day, but it wouldn't do to laugh.

Jasmine cursed under her breath in Chinese. She wetted a paper-towel and used it to cushion her sore palms while trying again to open the bottle. Jack held out a hand. Jasmine hesitated before giving him the bottle. Jack crawled up the bed in order to bring his hands together, hoisting himself onto his elbows. He put pressure on the thread and released it on the first attempt. Jasmine made to take the bottle from him, but Jack wasn't letting go. He was stronger than her, he'd just proved that. He watched as a flicker of fear passed over her face, then flicked his eyes to the medicine spoon and back. He calmly screwed the top off the bottle and held out his other hand for the spoon. Then Jasmine understood. He wasn't about to be spoonfed.

It occurred to Jack that he could smash the bottle against the metal bar at the foot of the bed and use a glass shard to slash his carotid. This would be quicker than hanging himself by his blanket from the window-bars of his cell, which he had often contemplated. If he was fast enough, she would have little chance of saving him, even in the middle of a hospital. He visualized his carotid, in the same way he would that of an opponent before knifing him. His blood would spatter on the wall opposite. _My way, my choice. Would Teri be there? Mom? Would mom be proud of me? Not for dying for nothing , Jack, she wouldn't be proud of you for that_.

"Two spoons," said Jasmine as she handed him the spoon.

Jack measured out and swallowed two spoons of liquid. He replaced the cap on the bottle, giving it an extra twist for tomorrow, and handed it back to her.

She sat down in a chair and put her hands on her knees. She looked nervous.

"I have mother and brother," she said mechanically. "Brother is older. Two years. He work construction. Much construction in China. He manager two teams…" Jack figured she spoke for about 20 minutes, sounding much like an essay prepared for a language class. He listened intently. As suddenly as she had started, she stopped. She sat in silence for what seemed like an age. Jack was about to close his eyes to signal that the conversation had finished when she spoke again.

"They very worried about you. Doctors. How you not speak."

Jack considered. He could give a shrug at this point, but he was not going to give in to emotional blackmail.

"_I_ not understand."

Jack was reminded of something he had seen on the news. It was how politicians replied to each other in the British parliament when they didn't want to say anything. 'I refer the honourable gentleman to the answer given a moment ago.' It was a totally ridiculous thing to say, but they said it over and over until it sounded convincing. _How did they do that? Was there a training day or something?_ Jack let this phrase wash over his body and face.

"Cheng say, when you take metal from pen, you want use it on me. My neck or my eye. Use me as hostage, try to escape. That right, Jack?"

_Is she really that afraid of me? She hides it well. _

"They not care about me. If you threaten me. They not care."

At this Jack did give the tiniest nod.

"This not right," she spoke very quietly, even though Eric had still not returned, "I tell you, you not tell anyone. You good at that. It not right. Not matter what crime you did in past. Maybe capital punishment right, I don't know. But this – this not right. I tell this to Cheng, I put in prison because what I say." Jasmine reached out and touched his hand.

Sometimes it was hard to keep a face impassive. He moved his hand away from hers and closed his eyes. _There's such a thing as too much temptation_.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_The following takes place 3 days later… _

Jack was woken by the sound of rattling breath – a man was dying next to him. He could hear his lungs filling up. The man would soon drown. Then the light was on. Masked medics rushed into the room. He watched them from above while they worked on the dying man. Jack was freer than he had been for months, floating there above them. Jasmine came in, she looked worried. She placed an oxygen mask on the man's face.

"You not die for me today, Jack Bauer, you not fucking die today!" she said to the man.

Jack was slammed back into his body. The pain in his chest was excruciating. Every breath hurt, like he was being impaled by a thousand tiny needles. He didn't want to breathe. He could see Jasmine above him now. Again, he felt people poking, prodding, from all angles. He told himself to submit. They would do what they had to do.

He sensed a powerful Presence coming into the room. All moved aside for him. Jack felt his head being jerked back. Something cold and hard was in his mouth, going down his throat, further than he ever knew his throat went. He was about to vomit, he was about to suffocate. His mouth was no longer his own, he shared it with an alien. The cold alien wrenched his throat open from the inside. Next came lots of pushing. Someone flicked a switch, and the alien forced cold, dry air right into his lungs. This again hurt, but he had no power to resist.

A calm descended on the onlookers and they departed until only Jasmine, the Presence and the guard were left. He recognized the Presence as Dr X. Jasmine busied herself with the equipment, prodding him as she knew best.

"You have pulmonary odema," she said, "Chest infection. The machine is breathing for you. Just relax, do not try to talk."

If Jack could have belly laughed at this last instruction, he would have. He settled for acknowledging her presence with his eyes.

"Infection through the hospital now. Contagious. You caught it because your system weak. More antibiotics, sorry," Jasmine apologized as she put something through his IV.

They had left him sitting up in bed, his weight painfully on his back. There was some discussion between the three of them, and the guard left. He returned some minutes later wheeling a large, wooden contraption which looked a little like a child's see-saw. A board – large enough to take a man – was pivoted in the middle to a wooden frame. Jack's eyes widened when he saw it – he had been water-boarded on this several times. The machine monitoring his heart-rate beeped alarmingly. Jasmine seemed to understand.

"It's OK. You need be upright because lungs. You need be on front because back wounds."

He blinked to show he understood. It was impossible to nod with the machine going down his throat.

"You can move?"

Jack understood he was being asked to move to lie face-down on the board. This was no easy task, but eventually he got there. The board had ties on the side which to which he was fastened, allowing no movement. Once it was angled so that he was upright, it was, he recognized, the least painful of all positions he could adopt.

"Tonight I stay with you," said Jasmine.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

Every intake of breath hurt, and every out-breath degenerated into an equally painful cough. Jack distracted himself by conjugating irregular Russian verbs – one form per breath. When he got fed up with this, he counted down in sevens from a thousand. He got to 790, lost concentration, cursed, and started again. This time he only got to 916 before dissolving into a coughing fit which required his total concentration.

When he recovered from this he was so tired he let his mind wander freely. He mused that the three days since being intubated had been the deepest lesson in submission and humility he ever hoped to learn. It struck him that he had never, ever considered the possibility that he might die of natural causes. He had always imagined that a bullet would get him in the end. _Chest or head? Fast or slow? Maybe even an explosion or a knife. Definitely an act of violence committed by a bad guy._

The idea that he might die despite people around him trying to save him was quite alien to him. _Weak people get sick. Weak people hang around in hospitals and catch super-bugs._ He had always been strong. Jasmine said he got sick because his system was weak. He was only here because they flogged him. Is that a natural cause? He hadn't asked them to flog him.

Or had he? He had invaded Chinese territory. Their consul was killed. If the tables had been turned, America would have wanted its pound of flesh. As a government agent, he might even have been involved in getting that flesh. He could have been on the other side. He'd tortured people before. _No_, he told himself. _Jack only tortures people if he has to_. _If the bomb is ticking._ _I don't do it just for a confession, for a code, for just another piece of intel. But other people would._ _You're part of a system. A cog in the works. You do things other people wouldn't. Other people do things you wouldn't. It's all the same system._

At this point, Jack ordered himself to stop. _You stopped the nuke_, he told himself, _you did what you had to do. Now you're paying the consequences. It's simple. Not nice, but simple. You stopped the nuke, and people are alive today because of that. Your actions had meaning. Your life had meaning. My life. Has meaning_. And this, Jack repeated to himself as he coughed.

Having the tube taken out of his throat was, as Jasmine had promised, not quite as bad as having it put down in the first place. He found her a real mystery. She was devoted to saving life. What was she doing here, patching him up so they could flog him again? How did she deal with that?

After a rare break for a shower and change of uniform, Jasmine returned with a chess set. She placed it on a table and began setting up the pieces. Jack looked on in astonishment. _What's next,_ he wondered, _an X-Box?_

"You know how to play?" she asked.

Jack simply looked at her. Sometimes it was hard, to give no response, but even nods and shakes of the head he kept to a minimum. She had set up the board with the whites toward him. He picked up the white king and marveled at it as if he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

"If you cannot play I will show you," Jasmine said.

Jack replaced the white king and rotated the board. _Ladies first_.

Jasmine nodded and moved a pawn forward two squares. Jack opened with a knight.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

_The following takes place a week later…_

_A new guard, new enough to obey the rules, even when no-one's around. Fresh from basic, perhaps. Smartly turned out. Funny how they all wear the same uniform, yet some are smarter than others_.

Jack hadn't yet got the measure of this guard, and was deciding whether he deserved a name. He played a game, inching up his bed, very, very slowly, making the links in the chain fastened to his leg-irons clang against the metal at the bottom of the bed. It made an annoying noise. _Clang_. He controlled that noise. _Wait. The guard doesn't know when it's coming next. If it's coming at all. He can't relax._ _Clang, clang!_ _Two at once. _

Jack played this game for a while and then tired of it. Jasmine was on a long break. She won the last chess game. He let her beat him because he had wanted to see her smile.

Jack examined his finger-nails and then bit across them one by one. His toe-nails were also getting too long, but they would need to wait till he had better access.

While the food was better here, the entertainment much better, but Jack actually yearned to be returned to his cell. He looked forward to this in a strange kind of way, the way he would look forward to going home after a long spell on assignment. The familiar home comforts. The rats. The straw. The privacy. He missed being able to do a simple task, like sweeping his floor clean with his shoe.

Another game with the guard. He angled himself slightly and stared sideways at the guard's knees. _Maintain that stare. Keep it up, keep it up, till he bites. A bit like fishing, really_. Eventually the guard was unnerved enough to stare back at Jack. With split-second timing, Jack raised his gaze slightly to the man's groin, then looked aside with a slight grin. Reflexively, the guard checked his fly.

_Victory!_ Jack allowed himself a full-face smile, fully expecting to be on the receiving end the rifle-butt. Instead, the guard shrugged lightly and resumed staring into space. _A guard with a sense of humour_, thought Jack, _he needs a name…_


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8 **

_The following takes place 3 weeks later, in Jack's cell._

Jack had been awake for several hours before they came for him. _Breakfast is late_, he thought, _or perhaps it's not breakfast. Perhaps it's supper. Doesn't matter_.

Dressed now in his dark-grey button-down prisoner suit, Jack had been pacing his 6'x 6' cell. Concrete floor, concrete walls on 3 sides, steel door with a barred window. His sleeping mat and blanket were neatly folded in one corner away from the door – the other far corner contained the pile of straw which Jack very much hoped these guards were going to replace. The sole source of light was a single, weak bulb in the corridor outside. The bowl and chop-sticks from his last meal were already placed near the door. As per the drill, he stood in the far corner while they entered, showed them his empty hands, interlocked his fingers above his head, and turned to kneel facing away from them, next to his sleeping mat.

They cuffed his hands behind his back and ordered him to stand. Jack's pulse quickened – was he being taken for a shower, or for questioning? A hood was placed on his head, and he was made to walk. When the hood came off, he was in an interrogation room. Dread was tinged with excitement. For all that he wanted it to stop, it was times like these that he felt closest to good people - Tony, George, Gael. Closest to home. Closest to a time when his life had meaning.

He knew this room well – it was one of the larger ones. Windowless, its only decorations were stains of blood and vomit that had not been washed off the concrete. The wooden A-frame, set up for a flogging, grabbed his attention. He'd been flogged here before. That had been his ticket to the hospital wing. He'd not been in this room since. In fact, he hadn't been questioned since. If he was to be flogged today, then so be it.

But they didn't tie him to the frame. They secured him in a chair and wired him up to the polygraph. His heart rate, breathing and skin conductivity were now being monitored in a room just beyond the mirror. They left him. That wasn't unusual. He was the prisoner, it was natural that he should wait for the interrogator, not the other way round. He played around with his level of arousal a little, to make his polygraph more interesting. _Heart rate up, heart rate down_. _Heart rate up, heart rate down_. A confused baseline made the reading harder to interpret. He played this game a long time before anyone came. That too was not unusual. Anticipation was part of the torture. It worked, too. Looking at the frame, and remembering what it had felt like to be tied to it. Is this how Steven had felt? Whatever was coming, was coming. He would deal with it. Just like always.

Cheng entered with 'Jemima' at his heels. This one had been named after Jemima Puddleduck on account of his bow-legs which, Jack thought, gave him a waddle. He was a stocky, well-muscled man, dressed now in jeans and a black sweatshirt. Jack knew him as a man who didn't say much. He didn't need to. His eyes flashed menacingly at Jack. Jack's eyes were drawn to the rolled-up bull-whip at Jemima's belt. Jack knew well that Jemima knew how to use it. It had been Jemima who had flogged Jack last time.

Jack felt a band of steel tight across his chest and he tried not to eye the whip too much. Face impassive.

_Stay in the present, Jack_, he told himself. Jemima stood with his arms folded across his chest. Cheng was speaking to Jack, he was showing him a photograph. It was the LA Chinese consulate.

"Do you recognize this place?"

No response. Heart rate steady.

"Have you ever been here before?"

No response.

"Don't think you won't break, Bauer. We have time on our side. We have total control over you. You _will_ answer my questions."

Cheng shoved a photo of Howard Bern in front of Jack's eyes.

"Who is this man. Tell me his name."

_Ignore it, and it will stop. That's what Teri told him. She was right. She was better at the whole discipline-thing with Kim than he was. Kim would act up when he was around, just to make him react. Reward the good behaviour, ignore the bad, Teri said. But he saw so little of her, she was hard to ignore. Teri was right. Reward the question with an answer, they will bleed you dry till you give up every secret you have. Ignore it, it will stop. Eventually_.

It pained Jack that he would never be able to tell Teri she had been right. A slap across the cheek broke Jack out of his dream.

"You are going to admit this, Bauer," Cheng was saying, "and if you don't admit it right now, then today will be very unpleasant for you."

_Enough foreplay. Get on with it_.

Cheng nodded to Jemima. Jack expected he was to be put on the frame, but instead of moving toward Jack, Jemima opened the door. In came – Jasmine. Neat and bright-faced as ever, carrying her tray of needles and tubes. She almost dropped it when she saw Jack in the chair – clearly she had not been expecting him to be the subject.

Under Cheng's glare she made her best stab at normality while walking toward Jack's chair. Jack looked into her eyes.

_Stay the course, sweetheart, you're doing great_.

Jasmine trembled slightly as she knelt in front of him and placed the tourniquet on his bicep. He could see already which vein she would go for.

Then Cheng spoke in Chinese and she lowered the needle. She looked to Cheng, confused. Jemima grabbed her arm from behind, a greedy look on his face. Jack's heart skipped a beat. There were more confused words in Chinese as Jasmine was marched, struggling, to the frame. Soon she was secured to the frame and looking directly at Jack.

_No! You can't, you bastard! _

Oblivious to the polygraph, Jack felt his blood boil in anger. He struggled against the ropes, as if by struggling he would somehow undo them. Undo them, take out Cheng and Jemima, and save her.

_This had nothing to do with her_.

As if his intentions were not already clear, Jemima took a knife from his pocket and used it to rip the uniform from Jasmine's back. Jack felt his stomach lurch as the swine unclipped her bra and swept the straps to her front.

_No, you bastard, you don't get to touch her too! _

Only tatters of fabric now hung from Jasmine's shoulders as she sobbed

Cheng smiled knowingly. "You can stop this, Jack. Just admit what you did." His voice was measured and calm, "Tell us what happened, and this all stops."

Jack looked into Cheng's eyes, pleading, desperate to find some shred of humanity that might be lurking somewhere deep down.

Cheng was shouting now, "What kind of a man REFUSES to accept responsibility for what he's done? What kind of a man leaves his subordinate to face the consequences? It wasn't Howard Bern who ordered the raid, was it, Jack? It was YOU!"

Reason had left Jack. All he clung onto was an order he had given himself a long time ago, not to utter a single word. Not a single utterance was to rise from his chest. He rocked back and forward as far as the ropes permitted, unable to control his breathing.

He had sealed her fate. They knew he was upset, the polygraph had already told them. He had done his best, but this time his best just wasn't good enough. _Sorry_.

A crack came from Jemima's whip. Jasmine screamed, delicate wrists struggling pointlessly against tough rope. That had been a warning only. Next time would be the real thing.

"Jack please! Please! NOT let them do this!"

Jack's eyes were torn from hers again by Cheng. "What kind of a man lets a woman be beaten because he won't admit what he's done? Because he's AFRAID to admit what he's done?"

_Sorry, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry_.


End file.
